


I'm happy you're here

by philemonarthur



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Light Nipple Play, Mentioned Joseph Seed, Naked Female Clothed Male, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philemonarthur/pseuds/philemonarthur
Summary: John has a light obsession, and decides to act on it. His deputy also needs to atone.
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Kudos: 24





	I'm happy you're here

**Author's Note:**

> Working title for this was "Johnny has a crush," and it still applies.

John’s face lit up in delight as Rook busted through the church doors ready to rescue her friends from their atonement, only to be met with he butt of a rifle slammed into her face. Of course her friends – the pastor, the pilot, and the barkeep – weren’t there, they were already safely stewed away in his bunker, fresh wounds on their chests, flaps of skin already stapled to the church walls. The deputy (their deputy, _his deputy_ ) was so good willed, so naïve, that she had taken his word for the truth, and rushed into Falls End from wherever she was stationed, unprepared for an ambush. Her determination was adorable, really. Part of why he was so intrigued by her. 

He walked over to where she was laying and peered down on her. There was a slow trickle of blood coming out of her nose, bruised but not broken. A bruise was also starting to blossom, stretching form the side of her nose, over her cheek, and almost touching her eye. “Tie her up, take her to the ranch,” he said to the three other cultists companying him, before he walked out the church doors and out to one of the cars parked outside, waiting to take him home. He threw one last glance back to the church, and could spot her through the still open doors, now flipped over on her stomach with her hands in the process of being tied behind her back. The light from the church was spilling out the doors, illumination the stairs and reflected off of the white decoration adorning the entrance, making the night seem brighter than it was. He started the truck and spun out of the small town, eager to get home. He needed to set up, prepare his space and himself for her arrival.

-

The front doors of the ranch opened, revealing Rook being dragged more so than guided into the estate. She’d been struggling all the way there, almost jumped out of the car twice, eyes now darting around the room before they landed on him and the items spread out before him. He gestured for the men accompanying her at each of her arms to put her on the floor before him. They dragged her over and kicked her legs out from underneath her, placing her on her back before John’s feet. He dunked a sponge down in a wide metal bowl, and pulled it out, heavy with ice-cold water dripping down on the floor. He sat down, straddling her stomach, and pulled open her shirt, intending to wash the grime and sweat off of her chest. It only took him a few strokes before he realized “This won’t do. I need you clean.”

He got up and told the men to bring her upstairs to the bathroom, where they pushed her inside and waited beside her while John started filling the bathtub. “Remove her shirt and pants, then get her in,” he told them while arranging his tools on the bathroom counter. They did so, having to cut her shirt off seeing as her hands were still tied behind her back, and pushed her down in the tub, her socks and boots also long gone. She had a furious look on her face, with fear flicking out from behind her eyes. She didn’t appreciate being manhandled and stripped ( _least not on a Wednesday evening, but ask her again on a Friday night_ ), but didn’t dare raise any actions against them. She was gravely outnumbered, her allies far away. The water was lukewarm, licking up her legs and back. The two nameless cultists stepped outside, leaving her alone with John. He was standing with his back to her, and while she was eyeing him, he turned around, holding the same sponge in his hand. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her face, shoulders hunched over, trying to hide herself from him as much as possible. “Sit back, deputy. Let us get this out of the way so we can move on to the fun part,” he said, as he placed a hand in her shoulder and pushed her back against the cold porcelain of the tub. She shivered and made a valiant effort to keep her knees against her chest, but her stomach muscles soon gave out. Her legs fell down and she bared her chest to him. Her wrists were starting to ache in their binds.

“Oh, darling.” She swore he was almost purring at her as he dipped the sponge into the water filling the tub, and dragged it against her chest. She looked down and saw the dark grey streaks of weeks’ worth of dirt from running outside, couch surfing, climbing hills, and camping, running down her chest in heavy tracks. It honestly hadn’t looked that bad to her while she’d been dry. She almost cringed. If the rumours were true, and he was indeed planning to tattoo her, this had been and infection just begging to happen. Least he didn’t force her bra and underwear off, but being semi-nude in front of him, in his home, almost had a sedating effect on her, making her nearly paralyzed. She was angry, yes, but also scared of what could happen if she drove him too far. It wasn’t a secret that Joh had a tick for the sadistic, and being trapped here just made her more weary. All the thoughts rushing through her head as he wiped and wiped her chest distracted her from actually looking at him, and observe his demeanour. 

John’s was on cloud nine, or at least as close as he’d ever been. She was in his house, in his tub, at his mercy, and she wasn’t fighting him. She was tense, yes, but she wasn’t struggling, not at the moment at least. He stood up and went to fetch a white towel, to dab her chest dry. He then poured a good amount of alcohol over the area he wanted to tattoo, before he rose again to bring the machine over. While he was up, she let her upper body fall forwards again, to hide against her legs, which were still covered in a layer of dust and dirt. He turned around, and saw her dirtying herself up again, and sighed. He went over to her, and firmly grabbed her by the throat and shoved har back against the tub. “Stay. Honey, you make loving you so difficult,” he chastised. She spluttered out a choke in protest, flexing her arms to retaliate. She looked at him with fire in her eyes, but stayed put. The knots in her stomach were growing tighter. He smiled down at her and placed a tender kiss to her forehead. His hand tightened against her throat briefly before letting go. She sat frozen in the bathtub while he repeated his steps of cleaning her, before he finally brought the tattoo machine over. He placed his other hand against her shoulder, to keep her sitting still against the bathtub, giving the machine a few test buzzes, just to tease her. She didn’t find it amusing, her eyes glued to the needle.

“As previously established, my dear, you sin is Wrath. And while that is clear as you anger drives you even now, I sense a pridefulness in you.” Her eyes flicked up to him for a second, unsure if she was to respond. “However, I think Wrath is still more fitting for you, and I want this displayed on you, forever. I will not cut it out from you, but you will forever be marked, forever be reminded of the mercy I will show you today. Let me do this for you, deputy; let me save you,” he said to her, as he started grazing her skin with the needle, a loud and steady buzzing filling the air. As if she had a choice. When the needle touched her skin for the first time, she flinched, but he held her down, giving the clear command: “Don’t move.”

It was painful, she figured. The only tattoo she’d ever gotten was displayed on her upper arm, and the pain from her chest could not compare. It stung but it was bearable. It wasn’t like she wanted to show John that she was hurting, but he made numbness a challenge. She gritted her teeth and tried not to move around too much. She tried to focus on the ceiling, but was distracted by his breaths fanning against her face. He was too close for her liking. She could feel blood and excess ink running down from the wounds he was creating, staining her bra. From the little experience she had, she was determining that he was going too deep. But who gave a fuck, it wasn’t like she was going to keep it. If she ever got out, if she ever escaped Hope, she was lasering this shit off. And if the laser didn’t take, she was covering it with something beautiful, not keeping this hateful accusation of a “sin” she didn’t feel like atoning from, because she didn’t feel guilty. Not even a little bit, not at all. But it wasn’t like she could tell John that, he would just double his efforts. No, she would fake it, fake her atonement, and she would survive.

Her mind was running loose again, because she hadn’t noticed that time had passed. He was now wiping the very sore patch on her chest clean of ink and blood, declaring that he was done. “Beautiful,” he said, admiring his work. She glanced down to her chest, and recoiled form the angry lines drawn there. Was it intentional to make “Wrath” look so aggressive? Was “Lust” written in cursive, and “Gluttony” in bold? She felt her stomach roll, threatening to spill over. It was so ugly, and she almost wished he would cut it out, like all the other from the resistance. Him letting her keep her skin was another move to convert her, she got that, and she was relieved that she avoided that specific hellride of a traumatic experience, but she didn’t like what they were doing to her brain. When there had been talk of a cult growing in Hope, she had begun reading up on group dynamics, indoctrination tactics, and old stories and memoirs form escaped cult members, just to be prepared - just in case. She knew what he was doing, but she couldn’t do much to stop him.

He dressed her tattoo in a white bandage, wrapping it around her chest to secure it, then dragged her up from the tub, and started to dry her off. “I will untie your hands now, and you will not do anything other than what I tell you. I have bliss in this vial here,” he held it up to her face so she could see the green specks floating around in the small glass bottle, “and I would be delighted to use it. Am I clear?” he asked. She gave him a nod, flexing her fists, eager to move her arms again. He went behind her, grabbed one of her arms and released her hands. While still holding her arm, he spun her around so she was facing him. He wiggled one finger under her bra stap, stretched it up, and let it go so it smacked against her shoulder with a wet “thwap”. “Take it off,” he demanded. She hesitated, not wanting to bare herself completely. “There is no shame here,” he said, his voice lower now, impatient. She lifted shaking hands back to unclasp the straps holding it together. When he had wrapped her chest, he had been so kind as to sneak the bandages under the straps, so all that was left was to just let it fall down her arms. But she still held on.

He leaned his forehead against her, similar to what she’d seen Joseph do to him, and said: “Let it go.” She did, after another moment’s hesitation, letting the garment fall to the floor. His hand went to her chest, cupping her. He let his thumbs rub over her nipples, which were already hard from the water and exposure to air. She gasped, and tried to step away, but one of his hands went to her back, holding her close to him, his face still close to hers. He tilted his head, and let his mouth wander from her cheek, to her ear, to her neck, placing kisses and soft words against her skin. The one hand left on her breast continued kneading her, and she could feel her breaths coming in heavier. His attention on her neck shifted, and wandered down to her other nipple, and his teeth found their way around it, and started nibbling. She flinched, and grabbed hold of his hair, trying to pry him away. His teeth let go, he laughed against her breast, then locked his lips around her nipple instead. Her back arched, and a moan slipped out. He lifted his head then and looked up at her with a beaming grin. She tried to calm her breaths, and while she was swallowing down another whimper, he had hooked his thumbs under her underwear, and was dragging it down her legs. “Can’t have you sleep in wet clothes, my dear.” It dawned on her then, that she was standing in front of him completely naked, and like another punch in her gut, she realized that he himself hadn’t removed a thread. She blushed, and looked away, trying to distance herself while he was standing a few centimetres away from her. 

He stepped around her then, and grabbed her shoulders to lead her out the bathroom door, into the hall ( _past his men_ ), and into a bedroom. His bedroom, she realized. He placed her in front of the bed, and before she could step away, he’d bent down and clasped a chain around her ankle, chaining her foot to the bed. She stumbled back, a wave of panic washing over her. “Can’t have you sleep in wet clothes,” he repeated, ”and can’t have you wandering around. You understand, don’t you, darling?” He walked over to her, holding up a white garment. “Now lift your arms.”

She complied, wincing as the skin over her chest was stretched. He draped a light night dress over her head, and it only fell down to the top of her thighs, leaving most of her legs bare. Leaving her standing there in a poor excuse for sleepwear and no underwear, he went over to his closet and started undressing. “I normally sleep in the nude, but sleeping next to you without any barriers could lead to more sinning than either of us could atone for. Lay down, and go to sleep. You’ve had a long day, dear,” he said as he finished putting his clothes away, and laid down in only his boxers. The lights were already off, the door was closed, and she could hear him tapping his fingers against the headboard, prompting her to move. She slowly climbed on top of the bed, and laid down on her back hesitantly. The moment her head hit the pillow, his hand was on her, stroking over her stomach, her arm, har cheek. “I’m so happy you’re finally here,” he whispered in her ear. She felt his presence beside her pressing her down, found it hard to breathe and letting her muscles relax. She went to roll over to her side, but his hand stopped her. He placed it on her chest, right on top of the fresh tattoo. The dull pain emanating was a constant reminder of the depressing situation he’d trapped her in. 

But she would survive. She had to. He’d fallen asleep by now, hand on her wound, and face pressed to her neck, leg thrown over one of her own. She slowly, slowly lifted her hand and pried his own from her chest, and placed it on her stomach instead. His arm coiled around her waist and his grip only tightened. _Mine_ , it said.

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2007 and Arctic Monkeys - 505 is playing on the radio.


End file.
